Flickers
by Cybertronic Purgatory
Summary: [Citadel DLC spoilers within.] Shepard pays Maya Brooks a visit, bringing with her a gift.


Shepard signed for seeing _PRISONER UNKNOWN_, following standard protocol, and had to cross out the first scrawl of an M to her annoyance. The sign on the cell's door read _ID UNKNOWN_, though Maya Brooks served as her identity even there. She didn't offer anything else up, and any line of figuring out her real identity had remained inaccessible as the war raged. If there even existed any traces to her true origin.

In the reflection of the shaded glass, Shepard caught a glimpse of herself and realized she had over-dressed for the occasion. Rolling up the sleeves did little to alleviate the fact, and she accepted that Maya would likely be amused by her appearance. Everything she did seemed to make Maya smile, as if she'd expected it – as if she expected nothing more from Shepard.

Infuriating to say the least, yet Shepard kept coming by the holding cells each time the Normandy docked at the Citadel. _Drawn like a moth to some murderous flame_, as Maya herself put it the first time Shepard visited, her arms still bruised purple from the final fight. _Drawn to me_. And she'd smiled so viciously Shepard got up and left, the full lips and perfect row of gleaming teeth lingering on her mind despite her best attempts to forget.

And she came back, but at least this time she had a purpose. A reason. Fingering the box in her pocket, she stepped through the final gate and there, at the dead-end of a corridor, behind massive security doors, a lone woman in a glass cube. Maya sat on the cot, cross-legged and leaning against the smooth wall, her hair pulled back into a braid, eyes rowing across the pages of a book.

The guard banged his hand against the solid one-way glass wall, and on the other side Brooks snapped her book shut and stood up, putting her hands against two circles on the wall. A flash of that knowing smile made Shepard's stomach knot. She'd felt the same towards Miranda once upon a time, the same nervous clench each time she looked at the woman who'd reconstructed her. What Brooks had done couldn't be compared, not really, not technically, but it still made her skin crawl. She'd peeled her apart without her knowledge and reassembled her, in a manner of speaking. The thought of which kept her up some nights, thinking about how she could be deconstructed by other's hands without her knowledge or assent.

Specifically, thinking about Maya doing it.

"Visitor!" the guard shouted, opening the door for Shepard. "Take your time. And," he leaned closer to Shepard, whispering, "if you want, I can turn the cameras off."

"No thanks," Shepard said, a hint of distaste in her tone.

"As you say, Commander." The door slid shut.

Maya chuckled, hands still on the wall, shifting the weight of her body from one foot to another. Shepard noted that the ill-fitting jumpsuit still managing to look good on her, slightly envious. "To what do I owe the pleasure today?"

What could she say? That she wished to return the favor, that she yearned for sincere answers, something firm and tangible, that she couldn't keep herself away, going against her better judgement? She turned the box in her pocket, then let go, sitting down at the foot-end of the bed. "No reason in particular."

"So this is a social call then?" Maya let her hands drop cautiously, keeping them in visible sight as she sat down on the cot again. "You'll forgive the outfit. Not my choice, but so little here is."

"You have a better cell than the rest, you must have been doing some talking."

"'Better' meaning I have enough room to stretch out in. I'd hardly call it acceptable for what I've given them." She held up the book, flashing the cover – _Atlas Shrugged_, Ayn Rand – before Maya let the novel drop onto the floor. "I mean, the drivel they keep in this library, and they won't allow me a datapad to read on because they worry I'll figure out a way to hack it."

"And you wouldn't?"

"Please. I'm working with them. For now."

"They did say you've been cooperating nicely."

"Sometimes I play by other's rules. Not often. But when it's to my advantage." She crossed her legs, elbows leaning on her thighs. "You _are_ here for something."

"What did you really think to accomplish?" Shepard pushed, the question she'd been avoiding every visit before. Often she got up and left before they even got close enough to it, driven out by Maya's intense gaze or that frustrating smile dangling some distant truth above her head. And she wanted – no, _needed_ – to have the conversation before she delivered the gift.

"What Cerberus failed to do. You were to be the spear-tip of humanity. But, you chose rebellion, you chose this. All that happens from now on is entirely your fault."

"War isn't a time for testing out your ideals."

"Oh, really? And what about you? You're the practical embodiment of one. Though you're choosing not to verbalize it, it's still very much there, shaping you."

"And you disapprove of them."

"Do you even care?" Maya tilted her head. "Of course you don't. For what it matters, no, I'm unimpressed. You could have been so much more."

"But why Cerberus? Why their ideals?"

"They're not flawed, not at their core. Someone has to champion humanity. We're centuries behind the other species, scraping together what we can find in a mad dash to make sense of who we've become with deep space exploration to redefine us in. We're weak. We're exploitable. We're thrown out so the Council can buy time. There's no denying that."

"Sure, they couldn't openly work with us at the start of this war, but look at us now. Making alliances. Making progress. We can't stand alone. No one in this galaxy can afford to do so."

"I never suggested standing alone. But that when the final moment comes, humanity walk out with the true triumphs."

Shepard shook her head. "You're just like him."

"Wrong. I still have my own mind, and I made a very different choice. Besides, the Illusive Man, it turns out, lost long ago. He lost the moment he made the choice to bring you back intact. I chose differently, and I did what I could, but clearly, that wasn't enough." Maya leaned back, arms crossed. "If you came here to argue war theory, it's obvious we're going to disagree. Why not speak about something more appealing?"

"Like?"

Maya's gaze moved from meeting Shepard's, down to the naked forearms and the bunched-up sleeves at her elbows. Her arms were scratched and burned, a minor accident from a close run-in with a Cerberus soldier. Before Maya could comment on the sharp gash, Shepard couldn't resist anymore.

"Before I forget…" She held out the small, compact shatter-proof glass box, ash packed so tightly barely a speck of dust could shift when it passed from hand to hand. "Here it is."

"_She_," Maya said with an acidic undertone, but for the first time, she looked visibly shaken as she held the box gingerly. "Touché, Shepard. You got surprises even for me. I'd never have guessed you were this cold." Maya carefully placed the box next to her on the bed, then looked straight at Shepard, and while she smiled her eyes held no trace of mirth. "You're curious about the clone, aren't you?"

Shepard kept her mouth in a straight line, trying to hide the fact that she couldn't say yes even though she wanted to. She didn't want to know, couldn't stand to know, but Maya's gaze kept her pinned down.

Maya, sharp and quick, caught on. "That's alright, you don't have to answer. Your expression speaks volumes. I got to know her very well, and you're alike. So very, very alike."

"It was just a clone."

Maya flashed a hint of teeth. "_She_ had your body, your voice, but her memories weren't yours. Her dreams weren't yours. She was the malleable one, the you Cerberus should have created. I gave her thoughts, I gave her reasoning, I gave her purpose. I did what Cerberus, what the Illusive Man, didn't dare do with you."

"You manipulated her."

"Such a hideous misgiving. No, she knew exactly. And she did it willingly."

"If she could still talk, would she say that?"

Maya ventured a glance at the small box and shrugged. "She's not the one alive."

"You're cold."

"I'm realistic."

Shepard got up from the bed, having had enough. She made a gesture to the cameras watching them, hoping the guard remained nearby to let her out quickly.

Maya stretched out on the bed, sighing softly, content at having Shepard unnerved once again. "You thought about kissing me. Admit it."

"Never."

"See, I spent six months, every day, every hour, with your copy. You and her shared more than you think. Body language, for example. The way you looked at me in the apartment couldn't be misinterpreted."

Shepard felt a chill travel down her spine, but pushed the discomfort away. "You didn't learn to read me, just a copy. A flawed copy."

"You're still thinking about it."

"That doesn't matter!"

"I knew her intimately, you know." Pressing her thighs together, back arched, she let out a deep, evocative moan. "I still remember the anatomy in exact detail. I'd know how to make you scream, how to render you into jelly, have you shaking in the soaked sheets…"

Shepard averted her face, biting the inside of her cheek, wishing the guard would hurry up already.

Maya, unconcerned, continued on. "Here's the mistake, though: I'm looking at you and I see_ her_. I never looked at her and saw you."

"But you tried to form it… Her… Into me."

"Not exactly. She would have been better. Perfected. There's a difference, and it matters."

"Perfection isn't a viable state of being, for anyone."

"Striving for it, however, is a reason to live." Maya sighed wistfully. "I could have changed history. Now you're holding the pen." Thumbing the small box, her expression softened, becoming sadder. "This was to be humanity's great champion. I poured everything into her, and still it wasn't enough. How will you ensure humanity's future?"

"We're helping save the galaxy. That has to count for something."

"Will it? What did the Council do the krogans? Can you really trust them to not suddenly change their minds and throw you out?"

"I have to trust in them."

"You go do that, and come back after the war is over, after the losses are counted and normal life resumes, you come back and tell me then that your trust was well-placed." Maya's tone softened. "We'll see who lives in the end. I have a feeling I'll be the one standing at someone else's grave."

"You're holding the ashes of your dreams already."

"How long until you come here, carrying the same burden?" Maya smiled victoriously at Shepard's scowl. "Maybe then we can share a drink and talk as equals."

Shepard kept silent, all the responses – _we'll never be equals, I won't accept failure, there's nothing to compare between us_ – resting dead on her tongue. The door opened, the guard eyeing the two of them, looking uncomfortable.

"You done, ma'am?"

"Yes."

"Wait, Shepard…" Maya lifted her head, her intense glare all ice and determination. Then she broke out into a vicious smile, winking and blowing a kiss to Shepard. "You'll be back. If I feel like it, I might even be around then."

"Goodbye, Maya."

Once on the other side of the one-way glass door, Shepard remained there, keeping quiet and still. Maya resumed reading, or at least appeared to: Shepard noted how her eyes weren't moving, the pages weren't turning. After a few minutes, Maya put down the book and took the ash box into her hands, stroking it gently with her fingertips. She pressed her lips to the top, lingering too long, her eyelashes lowered. Her cheeks remained dry, her fingers steady, yet…

Shepard saw a glimpse of herself in the dark glass and instinctively flinched, then pinched the bridge of her nose. _Like a moth to the flame_. Visiting Maya never did her any good.


End file.
